You're to Blame(45)
“I often wonder what it would’ve been like to have a father throw a ball around the yard and sit down to do homework with me. This is really embarrassing to admit.” Charlotte cuddles next to me, her hand protectively covering my heart. “When I was younger, and everyone was asleep, I’d watch family sitcoms and fantasize about what that kind of love felt like.”
Holy shit. I’ve never told anyone that. Dammit, that felt good.
“Do you ever wonder why he’s so distant?” Her fingernail designs an invisible picture on my chest, twirling and spinning before I can figure it out.
“When I was younger, yeah, maybe.” I close my eyes, feeling an unfamiliar burn behind my eyelids. I clench my jaw at how real this conversation is turning. Jesus, I’ve lied a lot about how I feel about Charlotte, but she still makes me want to tell all the truths in the universe. “I can’t imagine not loving my own child.”
Charlotte sits up when she hears the crack in my voice. Her eyes intensify as they skim across my face, landing on the corner of my eyes. I don’t need to see them. I feel their burn. Years of suppressed emotion tip over the edge, and I turn to discreetly erase them from existence. Her hand runs over my bicep, giving me no choice but to face her.
“You’re a better man than you let yourself believe, Duke Anderson.” The pad of her thumb dabs the corner of my eye.
It’s not sympathy passing between us; it’s understanding.
Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte
Rachel tilts her head from side to side, inspecting every inch of my body. Her lips open to speak, but no words escape even though they’re reeling through her head.
“Go ahead, say it,” I propose. “I can tell you have something on your mind.” She always has something to say, and I love her honesty most days, but not today. I’m already running late.
“Out of everything, you chose this to wear?” my best friend questions.
What’s that supposed to mean? Rachel believes she’s doing me a favor by scowling at how ugly she thinks my clothes are. She also believes I care what she thinks.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I inspect my dark stained jeans. Their fit is tight, elongating my legs until they seem a mile long. My flowy top sways away from my body. The deep hunter green makes my blue eyes pop.
“I mean, it’s sort of boring. Besides, you wore it to work and class today.” Rachel grabs my hand and drags me back into her room. “I have something you should wear.”
“I have to go. I told Derks I’d be at the bar by now.” I plop down on the edge of her mattress. She rolls her eyes when I check the time on my phone. He’s squeezing me into his schedule. I’m going to feel like a complete ass if I’m any later than I already am.
“Just give me a minute.” She digs through her closet. “Here it is.” She holds out a black leather skirt.
“You’re actually shitting with me, right?” I laugh nervously. There is no way I can pull off a leather skirt. The cobalt dress, sure, maybe on a rare, good day, but one like this doesn’t belong on a girl like me.
Rachel waves the skirt in front of my face. “Now,” she demands.
I slip my jeans off, discarding them onto her floor. The soft leather is cool against my hot skin. I zip and then clasp the button. Rachel greets me with an approving grin when I face the full-length mirror.
“This shirt isn’t going to work,” I state, messing with the loose neckline. Rachel holds up a finger and disappears into her closet. She hands over her favorite red tank top, and I replace my blouse with it, tucking it into the skirt. The material forms to my body but dips low on the sides, exposing my simple black lace bralette.
“God damn, woman!” Rachel shakes her head. “You’re a knockout.”
My phone rings, and Derks’ name flashes across the screen.
“Shit, Rachel. I’m really late.” I race from her room, swooping up my black clutch and slipping into my black heels.
“He’ll forgive you once he catches sight of you,” Rachel calls out.
I blow a kiss over my shoulder. “I’ll catch you later tonight, okay?”
“Hopefully not too early.” She waves, returning to her seat on the floor. “Try to have fun.”
I send a quick text and slide behind the steering wheel. The drive is short, much like most in this town. A spot opens up close to the door at Murphy’s. The air is cool on my skin when I step out and click the lock button until I hear it beep.
“Go on in, sweetie. Derks is waiting for you.” He addresses me as if he knows who I am.
“I’m Charlotte, by the way.” I reach out my hand.
“Randy.” He smiles. His friendly eyes are soft and understated, one thing I’m sure people don’t notice because of his numerous tattoos, but not me anymore. “It’s a pleasure to meet the girl who’s keeping Duke on his toes.”
“Oh, Duke and I aren’t... We aren’t...” My words trail off because, even though we are teetering on the edge of something other than friendship, I have no idea how to describe us. What will push it over the edge and when?
Randy narrows his eyes. “Better get in there.” He jerks his head at the door.